


Stifle

by BoxWineConfessions



Series: After the Fire [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ambiguous mentions of medical transition, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Shiro, Future Fic, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Pidge, brief mentions of medical transition, trans male pidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7454851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants Pidge. His attention, his wit, his laugh, his hard muscular body trapped under chenille skin. He looks Pidge up and down, catches the flush of his face and cocky grin that’s plastered on his face and growing bigger with each hand. He notices the angle of his hips against the flat of his stomach. These are only revealed to him when he wears clothes that actually fit in lieu of his favorites which are often two sizes too big.  </p><p>His mouth goes dry. Yeah. He really wants Pidge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stifle

**Author's Note:**

> I had to take a quick break from the angst fest that is "Red Coals in Ash" so I wrote porn instead. This is still set in the same universe, just long long long after. You probably don't need to read the series to enjoy the porn. Reading tags is cool, dropping me a line through comments or on tumblr (onepunchprompts) is cooler.

Pidge taught him chess.

It was something that’s been taught over years at this point. Just when he thinks he’s got the board under his control, Pidge activates something in that big beautiful brain of his and turns the board around, so that Shiro’s in check in a handful of moves before he can even work out what has happened.

Their games go on for hours, or days. Their current record for a game uninterrupted by missions is two weeks

It keeps his mind sharp, and makes his chest swell with pride that on some level he’s able to keep up with Pidge. He’d like to think that it’s made him look at things differently on the field, and made them better as a team because he’s practiced thinking so many moves ahead in a controlled environment.

He taught Pidge cards.

It was something that Pidge picked up in all of two hands, or a few minutes time when the power was out on the ship. There’s a fair amount of math involved, and Pidge can keep a running list of what’s been drawn and the probabilities of what is still due to come up. It each hand takes minutes.  It takes less than a week for that deviously lovely man who would give him the moon if he asked, to clean out his account.

Tonight Pidge is hot.

He’s been talked up by the staff enough to make his way up to the high roller’s table. It’s lined with crisp black velvet. The chips here are made from brilliant semiprecious metals, and judging by the growing stack in front of Pidge they’re worth a small fortune. Pidge is surrounded by alien men, many of them twice his size, and in every species of the known genome.

To his left is a large fish like creature with drooping jowls. His slick green gray skin is wet constantly by a Amarian female with an endless supply of wet towels.

To his right is a wideset armadillo man with tough leathery skin and a long trunk like nose.

Across from him, the only female at the table other than the dealer. The closest thing Shiro can compare her to is a peacock. Her feathers are brilliant jewel like things that dart out from every limb and her back.  If it weren’t for the large salmon colored beak in the middle of her face, Shiro might find her beautiful.

As it stands the table is packed. Pidge’s winning streak has gathered quite a crowd of spectators and players.

He’s been regulated to the second row, directly behind Pidge among the girlfriends, wives and concubines of the very powerful and very wealthy men at the table.

For a moment he feels like a little boy again left in the front room of whatever diner or bar that his father left him in while he went to the back to play baccarat. It didn’t take long for him to abandon the meal or whatever it was his father had bought to pacify him in order to sneak back into the back room. Usually, if he stayed quiet, didn’t touch anything, and stayed out of the way, the dealers would let him watch.

He was Major Shirogane’s son after all.

Baccarat wasn’t his game at all. The versions played in the parlors back home was all chance and no skill. Shiro quickly picked up more skillful games at other tables. Tables that were, preferably far away from his father.

Eventually it served him well. In his days at the Garrison he managed a few games a week. Nothing big, but in his time there he won, among other useless trinkets an amazingly intricate dagger (which he gave to a certain cadet that kept getting his ass kicked for having a mouth) alongside an antique lapis ring (which he promptly sent home to his mother), and a deck of x rated playing cards (which he kept for himself because he found them funny). He could only image the face of the poor cadet who found them while cleaning out his effects. He hoped they didn’t send them home to his parents. Later he’d win an entire cargo transport in a single game.

So he should feel damn proud when Pidge wins another hand and rakes in another small mountain of credits.

“Papa Bear,” Lance buzzes over the communicator. He holds it up to his ear to hear the message over the dull roar of the slot machines. “Papa bear this is Goldilocks what is your and Babybird’s status.”

“I copy, and I said if you ever called me that again I was ejecting you through the airlock.”

“10-4 good buddy, we just happen to have a situation here. Little Red Riding Hood is drunk and on the verge of causing a scene. Paul Bunyon is attempting to coral, but we may need back up.”

Shiro refuses to believe that Lance is completely sober. It’s not his insistence on the code names that’s the tell, it’s the fact that they’ve blatantly changed mid mission. Last night Keith was inexplicably “Mama Bear.”

He moves his wrist back in front of his mouth and speaks into the comm. “Pidge is winning right now. I don’t want to leave him at the table alone with all this cash.”

“Copy Papa Bear. We have Little Red sequestered. We’re taking him back to the room. Breakfast is on Baby Bird?” Shiro turns off the volume on his communicator.

He turns back to Pidge who is shooing away a cocktail waitress that’s trying to give him a comped beverage. Drinks break concentration, and broken concentration means loss. Yes, in reality the whole scene should foster some sense of pride within him.

But even in these times of relative peace, they never have much downtime. Even now, they were supposed to be on task acting as diplomats on behalf of the Voltron alliance and mingling with the universe’s new elite.  Intergalactic trade and commerce was booming now with Galra control officially on the decline.

Tonight the last thing he wants to be is ignored like a child in a smoke filled parlor.

He brushes a hand across Pidge’s shoulder, down his spine rubbing at the tension in his neck before dipping lower. His hand rests gently on the crest of his lower back and tailbone.

He wants Pidge. His attention, his wit, his laugh, his hard muscular body trapped under chenille skin. He looks Pidge up and down, catches the flush of his face and cocky grin that’s plastered on his face and growing bigger with each hand. He notices the angle of his hips against the flat of his stomach. These are only revealed to him when he wears clothes that actually fit in lieu of his favorites which are often two sizes too big. 

His mouth goes dry. Yeah. He really wants Pidge.

The increasingly flustered dealer scowls at them as she rakes in the discard pile and awards Pidge more chips. Pidge didn’t win the hand, but he did pick up an over under side bet, further undermining the house. Then, she deals Pidge more cards.

He goes for them. Shiro intercepts and catches his hand. “For luck.” He says as he kisses each digit carefully before finally pulling his partner into a kiss. It’s quick, closed mouthed, but the smell of Pidge is like a gust of fresh air in the smoke filled parlor. For the first time, Lance’s aftershave (Pidge refuses to buy his own) smells like heaven and not some cheap swill cocktail that he uses to torment them all. It leaves him dizzy, and he can only hope that Pidge feels half as much tension as he does right now.

“Laying it on thick tonight,” Pidge notes as he turns away, picks up his cards, and raises the current bet.

It’s a comment that’s rough around the edges, but he knows when he’s being baited. “I can’t help it.” He waits for the flop before encircling Pidge’s waist with both arms. He doesn’t want Pidge to get disqualified, even if he is desperate to get him off of the floor. He pulls Pidge close and breathes hotly into his ear. “Seeing you beat all these guys two or three times their size, and not even batting an eye at all that money. It does something to me.” He can’t help but be reduced to another partner draped over another far more powerful man’s arm begging for just a pinch of attention. He sneaks a quick nip at Pidge’s earlobe and doesn’t care who sees.

“Do you need me Shiro?” Almost absentmindedly Pidge reaches behind his shoulder and presses him down into a longer, searing kiss. With displays of affection such as this so rare between them, Shiro can feel the slow burning creep of a hot blush rise from his chest to his neck to his cheeks.

“Desperately.”

“Go up to the room. Take a nice, long shower, and then wait for me. I’ll be up in 45 minutes.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow in a silent question, and squeezes his hip under the table. He knows how Pidge gets when he’s absorbed in something.

“I’m setting an alarm. See.” Pidge raises his arm and sets a timer for 42 minutes. “I’ll have security escort me up, and I’ll make sure it’s worth the wait.”

He turns to go, but Pidge calls back for him. “And Shiro, make sure you’re not wearing too much.”

In the end it takes twenty five minutes to scrub himself completely clean, pat himself dry, and put on a clean pair of briefs. He’s not sure what exactly qualifies as “too much,” but tonight he’s willing to push Pidge’s buttons.

He spends the rest of the time fidgeting nervously. He moves from the bed to the chair to the window to back to the bed. The whole time he watches a slew of missed calls and messages scroll across the screen. 

_“Goldilocks reporting in, we have Little Red secured.”_

_“Do you even know how Hunk says he does it with Shay?” --Keith_

_“Keith refuses to leave my room and just sort of passed out there after asking a ton of embarrassing questions. So I’m sleeping in his if anyone needs me.” –Hunk_

_“It sounds AWFUL.” – Keith_

_“I DON’T KNOW WHAT KEITH TOLD YOU BUT IT DOES INVOLVE LUBE OKAY.”_

 No sooner than he turns the communicator off for the evening he hears the click of the door unlocking.

“Ready for me Shiro?” He calls softly as he crosses the threshold from the entrance room into the bed chamber. VIP suite. Crystals, gold, a bath tub the size of his room at the Garrison. Complimentary for the man who raked in thousands tonight.

Pidge looks up over the rim of his glasses and back down again drinking him in hungrily.

He will never get enough of that delicious scrutiny. It makes his knees go weak and get short of breath. He’d blush too if he had the shame to be embarrassed. Instead he loves it. Nobody else gets to be taken apart and put back together again by Pidge the way he does. It’s a privilege of which he will never be ashamed.

Pidge catches sight of the emerging hardness in his briefs. He tugs at the elastic gray waistband with his index finger and looks downward. “Didn’t touch yourself in the shower did you?”

 It’s not a question.

“No,” he confesses. “Just ready.”

Pidge nods slowly and palms the bulge in his pants slightly. He makes sure to graze across the tip and reach back further in order to feel his balls “I think it’s my turn tonight isn’t it?”

The pleasant sting he’d woken up with in his backside this morning says otherwise, but he’s ready to have Pidge any way he can get him. It helps that he absolutely loves it when Pidge does this. Takes him to the point of being rough with him and still demanding more. This minimal contact indicates that he’s so close, but so far away from that intoxicating mixture of pain-pleasure-need that only Pidge can provide. “I think you’re right.”

“That’s what I thought.” He continues to palm Shiro for a moment while watching his chest rise and fall erratically. “Get naked. Get on your knees in front of the bed, and wait for me.” Pidge breaks contact.

Shiro flinches slightly at the loss of contact, but quickly moves to obey.

Pidge moves to his baggage and then into the bathroom. A few minutes later he emerges wearing nothing but his dress shirt, unbuttoned completely and his prosthetic.

“You brought it with you?”

“Do you ever leave home without yours?” Pidge quips as he pads across the floor and closes the distance between them. Pidge takes a moment to drink him in all over again. Her fingers ghost across his clavicle, down his shoulders and across his biceps. Then, with little warning or preamble he takes one dusky nipple into his fingers and pinches lightly.

Shiro moans into the contact.

He moves onto the other and tweaks it until it’s tinged red and overstimulated. “Seriously? What’s with you tonight?” Pidge brushes the tuft of gray hair away from his face.

Shiro leans into the touch and nuzzles Pidge’s palm. “Have you seen yourself Pidge? Have you seen how you’re dressed, how you carry yourself…Do you even know how good you smell?” 

Pidge chuckles slightly. “I get it.” He edges his fingers towards Shiro’s mouth.

Shiro hungrily accepts them.

“It’s nice to just be with each other.” Pidge lets Shiro coat his fingers in saliva. He scissors them obscenely stretching them between Shiro’s lips. It’s an obscene promise of what’s to come later. “Will you suck it Shiro?” He looks down gesturing to the glossy black prosthetic anchored between his legs by a pliable black harness. Pidge has carefully chosen it after trying many and deciding that this one is perfect. Functional, proportional, and everything that Shiro needs.

“Can I kiss you first?” He asks, but he’s already pulling Pidge down by the lapels and kissing him roughly. He bites at Pidge’s lower lip demanding entry and taking his tongue into his mouth urgently. He presses his hands to Pidge’s backside and hooks his hands underneath the harness pulling Pidge closer. Then he moves to his neck and kisses and licks there. He is as gentle as Pidge is self-conscious.

When he moves down to Pidge’s neck he lets go of any modicum of control he has left. He bites at his clavicle, sucks at his nipples, and leaves deep purple bruises dotted all across the biological parts of his chest. He’s careful to avoid the metal panel in the middle. It’s worth it, to only mark Pidge like this where no one else can see. It means Pidge can really enjoy it without worrying about what to wear to cover it up. It means that he can illicit with great care and wild abandon those beautiful little sounds that Pidge makes.

Finally, he licks down across Pidge’s flat stomach. He kisses at the thick scar tissue at base of Pidge’s chest plate, and then at the small scar on his lower abdomen, just below where his pants usually sit on his body. It never fails to amaze him…How one scar can be the source of so much pain, and the other can be the source of so much peace of mind.

It confuses him how badly Pidge wanted that lower scar. _Needed_ that lower scar, when all of his own do nothing but cause him agony.

He kisses the scar again before lapping at the few golden curls that peak out over the harness and prosthetic.

Pidge giggles and swats at his metal arm. “Get to it Shiro.”

“I wanted to make sure you’re enjoying it,” and he makes sure to throw in his most patented Pidge melting smile before he laps lightly at the tip. It’s all for show, but he wants to make sure he gives Pidge a good one.

“Has anyone ever told you, you look good like this?”

He’s licking gently at the shaft now. Up and down the underside until he decides to respond. “Only you,” and at that he takes the tip in his mouth fully. He’s lucky that Pidge has found something that doesn’t really taste like much of anything. Slowly he swallows it down until his chin is butted up against the underside of Pidge’s harness.

“Oh Shiro.” Pidge murmurs through clenched teeth. “You look so freaking good like this.” 

He bobs up and down on the device a few times, making sure to stay locked onto Pidge’s gaze.

After a moment Pidge taps against his cybernetic shoulder and says. “Okay. That’s enough. Bed. Please?”

Shiro releases him. He must look like a wreck. He can feel a hot red blush tinge his chest, and he can feel tears forming in the corner of his eyes from indulging Pidge so completely. “How do you want me.”

Pidge pauses to think for a moment. “On your back.”

Shiro hoists himself up off the floor and gets up on the bed. As Pidge moves to join him he asks firmly, “Will you lose the shirt?”

Pidge rips off the shirt and tears open the nightstand drawer. There he finds a small bottle of their favorite brand of lube. “I’m going to make you take my fingers before I give you my cock.” Pidge says as he traces the scars on Shiro’s stomach and hips. Then, he moves on to trace delicate swirls along his hip bones and within his pubic hair deliberately missing his length each time. By now he’s red and straining.

“I’m going to enjoy every minute of it,” Shiro fires back even though he knows that Pidge knows that he doesn’t need much tonight. It’s been less than a day since Pidge had him face down on his mattress taking a toy that was far larger than Pidge’s current device.

Pidge takes a moment to grab a few pillows off the impossibly large bed. He gestures for Shiro to move upward and he shoves the pillows underneath. Then, he coats his fingers slowly, first his index, then his middle. Finally he rests between Shiro’s spread legs and dabs a bit of the slick against his hole. “You really needed me tonight didn’t you Shiro.”

“God yes,” be breathes harshly.”

“I’m going to make it so good for you.” Pidge pushes the first finger in, and Shiro bares down. “You’re still so tight for me Shiro even after last night.”

Pidge’s tendency to ramble doesn’t go away even in the bedroom. For that Shiro is grateful. He focuses on the soft peaks and valleys of Pidge’s voice as he circles his entrance once more and puts another finger in.

Pidge gives a few experimental thrusts with his fingers.

“Stop teasing Pidge,” because Pidge always gets what he wants, what has he done to deserve being teased like this?

“Is this what you want Shiro?” Pidge moves his fingers in a motion that is a combination between ‘come hither’ and a circle. It’s slow and meticulous and it drags out that perfect mixture of burning and pleasure that he’s come to expect.

“Yes Pidge. Just like that. You know what it does to me.” He can barely keep coherent as Pidge drags moan after moan out of him.

“I do know what it does to you Shiro.” Pidge’s expression goes dark for a moment. He rubs harder for a second, which almost brings Shiro to tears. “Which is why I have to be careful with you.” As soon as the intense strokes begin, Pidge is removing his fingers. Shiro’s not sure if he’s grateful or upset.

Before he can decide Pidge is back again with a third, twisting and scissoring and stretching him.

“I’m ready Pidge.” He begs because he feels no closer to release than he did when he was sulking out on the casino floor.

“I guess I should give you what you want.” Pidge moves upward to kiss him gently while his fingers are still buried inside. “You have played along so nicely.” Pidge withdrawals his fingers and wipes them on a small hand towel he’s set on the nightstand.  “Stay on your back Shiro. I’m going to take good care of you.”

The words, the look in Pidge’s eyes…It’s enough to make him want to come right there, but who knows when he and Pidge will get a moment like this again. He’s not going to waste it.

Pidge moves back between his knees, lines up the prosthetic, puts more lube on it, and presses in slowly. Shiro wants so badly to close his eyes and clench his teeth, not because it hurts but because it feels so good to have Pidge fully inside of him. He fights those urges, and keeps them open for as long as he can. He knows that Pidge derives a great deal of pleasure from watching him squirm.

Shiro pulls Pidge’s body forward so he can kiss his cheeks his shoulder, his mouth. “You feel so good Pidge,” he assures so that Pidge will start moving.

Pidge pulls almost all the way out and slams back in. It takes Shiro by surprise.

Pidge takes a moment to admire his handiwork. Shiro’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His eyes are blown wide, and his skin is still tinged pink.

He gives Shiro another hard thrust before falling into something of a rhythm. The smack of their bodies together is obscene, but it’s nothing to the sounds coming from their mouths. Shiro is too lost in pleasure, but he’s almost certain that most of them are coming from him.

He holds onto Pidge’s hips roughly meets every thrust. He just wants to come so badly.

As if he read his mind, Pidge grabs his abandoned length and allows Shiro to thrust sloppily into his closed fist. In no time they find a rhythm. From the drag of Pidge’s prosthetic to the feel of his small hand closed around him, and the weight of his body on top of him its’ too much. All too soon he experiences the telltale signs. He tousles his head violently into the pillow and cannot keep Pidge’s name from his lips like some kind of prayer.

Instead of mercifully sending him over the edge, Pidge stops all of it. He pulls out completely and Shiro whimpers and grinds against air in protest. Pidge’s fingers haven’t left him completely, but they’re no longer thrusting and twisting against him. Instead he has his thumb and forefinger pinched tightly around his base to prevent his release.

“No. Not yet,” Pidge commands.

“Pidge,” he cries. “Please,” he’s unable to rationalize much more.

“I wanted to take good care of you Shiro. That doesn’t mean getting you off right away and going to sleep,” Pidge responds. He holds him in place for a moment and then leaves his length totally abandoned. He runs his hands up and down his chest, but the contact does nothing compared to the fire he’d lit moments before. He tousles his hair, tells him, “I love you Shiro. You want this Shiro.”

But in reality, no. All he really wants is to come. On his stomach and across Pidge’s chest. Into Pidge’s hand or into his mouth. He doesn’t really care at this point.

“Have you cooled down Shiro?” Pidge asks with caution.

“Yes,” he answers truthfully, because he doesn’t feel like he’s ready to pop at the lightest touch anymore.

“Alright,” Pidge responds. “Sit up against the headboard. Get rid of those pillows.”

Shiro complies.

Pidge raises the strap on slightly upward, but keeps it on. Wordlessly, he straddles Shiro’s lap and sinks down slowly.

Shiro’s eyes go wide, and once again he has to concentrate all of his energy on not finishing then and there. It’s tight and wet and warm, and wow Shiro’s so lucky because Pidge rarely lets him have him like this.

“I told you. You wanted this.” Pidge says in between hot demanding kisses.

Shiro rubs his hands up and down Pidge’s spine before resting his hands on his backside. “Yeah,” Shiro responds breathlessly. “You’re so tight like this Pidge.”

 “I’m normal size.” Pidge says between ragged breaths into his ear. He pauses for a few moments trying to recover. Pidge feels wet and needy and aroused, but it was a lot to take in at once with so little foreplay. He could only hope that his partner wasn’t in pain.

After a moment, Pidge starts to move again. It’s so familiar, yet so different from before. He grinds his hips wildly while Shiro bucks against him. This time, Shiro’s not trying to come as quickly as possible. It would be great if Pidge could find release in this too.

Keeping the device on helped. The long moans Pidge was releasing into his shoulder indicated that he wasn’t feeling anything negative about his body in that moment.

Shiro latched onto his neck and sucked at the junction where neck met shoulder. Then the moved on to Pidge’s earlobe knowing that the combination of places drove him wild. With a single finger, he gently circled Pidge’s rear entrance. He pressed at it, but never inside the lube long forgotten.

These ministrations brought out the desired response in Pidge. Pidge squeezed and released him, squeezed and released him. Although Pidge was shaking and visibly close, he just couldn’t help but get swept away in the perfect warm body on top of him.

Pidge rides him through his release, and they both slump forward on each other for a moment.

“Shiro,” Pidge asks as they catch their breath slumped up against one another with their foreheads pressed together. “One more favor?”

“Anything,” he replies as he traces the prosthetic strap.

“I didn’t exactly finish. Would you…” Pidge breaks their eye contact. It’s almost funny. Out of all the filthy things he’s ordered him to do, its this one that chokes him up.

“Set the arm to it’s lowest pulse setting, and…”

“Yeah. Please.”

“Anything you want Pidge.” 


End file.
